


Gonna Sing Your my Lovesong

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 17:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3736798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya leaves for a few days to attend a culinary convention and Napoleon starts to lose control.  First the cats, then the house and suddenly Illya isn't returning his calls.  Napoleon expects the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna Sing Your my Lovesong

The day had been warm and Napoleon was delighted to see that daffodils were starting to push their way out of the earth around the front porch.  Spring would soon come to the Foothills and he was ready.  He liked winter well enough when it was wrapped around the holidays, but come January and he would begin longing for the soft green blades of grass and the explosion of colorful blossoms on the fruit trees.

He’d lingered at Vinea later than usual, almost reluctant to return to the small house he shared with his partner and lover, Illya Kuryakin.  Napoleon worked to turn their home into a comfortable refuge from their nearly non-stop life.  He loved the colors, fabrics, the sheer shape of the rooms and the furniture in it, but tonight was different.  Tonight Illya wasn’t there. 

It was silly.  There were many nights that Napoleon was alone, at least until the wee hours of the morning when Illya would crawl into bed, exhausted and smelling of the evening’s toil in the kitchen of Taste.  Napoleon had gotten used to going to bed and reading until Illya came in.  He’d gotten used to preparing a tray of various cheeses and fruit, along with a glass of wine and a bottle of water for his hungry and thirsty mate.  After that, they often took care of a very different but just as demanding hunger.  He, however, wasn’t used to sleeping alone in their bed.

This morning, behind schedule as usual, Illya had done nothing more than hastily kiss Napoleon, told him to be good and headed out for Sacramento to catch his flight.  Napoleon had barely noticed his departure, engrossed in the monthly sales receipts, just an old married couple.

Usually it was Napoleon who traveled.  He would frequently take trips to the Napa – Sonoma area to check out new and some very old wines.  Illya never complained, but Napoleon knew he didn’t like it. 

****

“Why do you have to go?”  Illya stopped just short of whining.  “You always seem to be gone these days.”  They’d both worked hard to overcome Illya’s possessiveness following the Velon incident.  The bastard was dead and buried, but sadly much of the damage he inflicted was always just lurking beneath the surface.

“It’s the new season.  I have just one more trip after this and then I’m finished.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“I don’t know why you complain.  You’re hardly here these days.  You’re either in Taste or with Matt, doing God knows what.”  Napoleon knew that sentence was a mistake the moment he said it.  He knew Matt was as trustworthy as Illya was.  A flare of anger darkened Illya’s blue eyes.

“Just what are you accusing me of, Napoleon?”  Illya’s voice was soft and very calm.  It was that tone that had once struck fear into the hearts of the most dangerous THRUSH agents.

A dozen responses blasted through Napoleon’s head simultaneously.   Yet he was a tactician.  “That we are both working too hard for our own good.  I don’t like these trips any more than you do and you know that.”  For a moment it seemed Illya balanced on the wire between being reasonable and being, well, Illya.  Napoleon closed the gap between them and embraced his partner.  “I love you and a minute away from you is too long.”

Napoleon expected a biting comeback, a kiss, anything but what happened next. 

****

Napoleon grinned back at the memory now, but at the time it had come as a total shock.  Before he’d had a chance to think, Illya had him flat on his back on the bed.  The things Illya had proceeded to do made Napoleon’s cheeks burn and his penis wake up.    Napoleon had carried Illya’s marks for a week afterwards.  Seeing them in the hotel’s bathroom mirror had been a visible reminder of just what he meant to Illya.  Napoleon’s fingers found his wedding ring.  Now they had a more concrete reminder of their mutual commitment to each other and Napoleon’s anxiety slid away.  It was just a trip, nothing more.

He unlocked the door, turned off the alarm, slipped off his shoes, and waited.  Within a minute, three young cats appeared.  He hesitated to call them kittens, but they weren’t full grown adults.  Brunir, Roux, and Fremir had been born in their garage and their mother had been killed shortly thereafter.   As a result, Illya had felt duty bound to take care of them.  They had both bottle raised them into three healthy, mischievous, and very active adolescents. 

Immediately upon sighting Napoleon, they began a chorus of how the food ran out hours ago and they were being starved and mistreated.  Usually they didn’t pay him much mind.  It was only when Illya wasn’t there that the cats seemed to realize Napoleon was also part of the food-giving equation.

“Hello, you three.  I guess we are stagging it tonight.”  He bent to pick up Roux, the only female, and give her a scratch.  She purred and rubbed affectionately, chirping as he scratched under her chin and rolled in his arms.  “Ladies, excepted, of course.”  She chirped and meowed as he put her down and she was instantly back at his ankles, leaving a trail of light-colored fur on his dark pants.  “Gee, thanks, Roux.  I love you, too.”

The phone rang and he stepped over the cat to scoop up the receiver.  “Solo here.”

“Kuryakin here.”

Napoleon grinned and the night seemed to brighten significantly.  “I was just thinking about you.”

“Only in the rudest sense, I hope.” 

Napoleon could hear the grin in Illya’s voice.  “You can take that to the bank.  How was the trip?”  He cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he sifted through the mail.

“Bumpy coming into Vegas, but otherwise fine.  How was your day?”

“Uneventful, although the taxman seems to think we owe him money.”

“He always does.  The documents are in the desk, behind the paid bills.  I think he’s been paid, but if you check there, you’ll find Shabir’s number.  Give him a call and he can set everything straight.  Anything else pressing?”

“Not really and before you ask, the special tonight is rack of lamb with a macadamia and panko lemon infused crust and a mango pepper glaze.  It comes with spinach gnocchi and trio of baby beets, red, golden, and candy cane, whatever that is.”

“Mmm, sounds like Matt’s gotten in a shipment from Doug.  Tell Matt that he will need to give Doug a report as to what the diners say.  It’s part of my deal with him.”  There was a noise.  “Stand by.”

Napoleon could hear a muffled conversation and laughter.  For a moment, a sense of jealousy flared, but he squashed it.  Illya was not that type to cheat.   Napoleon repeated it three times before he believed it.

Illya returned.  “Sorry, I was being apprised of our dinner plans.  I have left meals for you in the refrigerator and instructions on preparing them.”

“Ah, Illya, remember the last time--”   Napoleon frowned down at Roux who was currently rubbing and rolling on his feet.

Illya laughed again. “Do I?  I was cleaning the kitchen for a week.  Don’t worry, these are Solo-proof.”

“If you say so.  Roux sends her best, by the way.”  He shifted the receiver to his other shoulder.   “The others are too concerned with their empty bowls to know you’ve gone yet.”

“Such is life.”  Illya’s voice grew soft and husky. “And you?  Have you noticed I’ve gone yet?”

It was a fair question.  They spent much of the day apart aside from breakfast in the morning.  And yet, somehow, there was something very different when there was actual distance between them.  Even the air seemed stale and empty without Illya.  “Very much.”

“How much?”  Illya’s voice was a tease now.

“Very… much.”  There was a crash and a yowl. Napoleon sighed.  “Your cats are tearing up the place.  I have to go.”

“And we said we’d never let the children come between us.”

“Love you.”

“And you.”  That told Napoleon Illya wasn’t alone and couldn’t talk freely.   “I might call you later.”

“Do that.  And you do know how to whistle.”  The line clicked and Napoleon grinned.  He did, indeed, know how to whistle, especially Illya’s tune.

He hurried in the direction of the noise to where a stack of magazines had toppled.  Roux was rolling on them and chirping, lost in a glossy paper ecstasy.

“What has gotten into you, sweetheart?  You are usually the good one.”  Napoleon knelt to gather the magazines together and Roux was all over him rubbing and meowing. “Do you miss Illya?  Me, too.”   He pushed her away and she immediately returned.  “Okay, I get it.  You’re hungry.”

He restacked the magazines and headed for the kitchen with all three cats in close attendance.  The kitchen was Illya’s territory.  Even after a couple of decades of living here, Napoleon was still slightly uneasy in here.   The feeling was silly, of course.  This was his kitchen as much as it was Illya’s.

 He went over to the pantry and grabbed a can of food.  He divided it onto three plates and set them down.   Brunir and Fremir attacked their plates with their usual ferocity, but Roux sniffed at hers, then walked away, still chirping, calling out to Illya, Napoleon supposed.

To avoid attracting insects, he carefully washed out the can and lid before tossing them into the trash bin.  Then in a mad act of impulsiveness, he merely rinsed off the knife and set it aside. 

                                                                                ****

“What is that?” 

Napoleon followed Illya’s pointing finger.  “The fork?”

“Yes, what is it doing there?”

“Um, lying there quietly.  It’s its only defense.”   Napoleon’s grin faded at Illya’s glare. 

“Not on my counter.  It has two places it can be – clean and put away or rinsed and in the dishwasher.”   He indicated both in turn.  Napoleon sighed loudly and Illya turned back to him. “What?”

“I can’t understand how a man can be so compulsive about silverware and yet be incapable of getting his dirty clothes even relatively close to the hamper.  The rest of the house looks like a war zone.”

Illya held up a fork.  “This can kill you.”

“So can one of your socks.”  Napoleon had been joking, but the intensity of Illya’s glare sobered him.  “Look, it’s just a dirty utensil.  I’m sorry.  I’ll remember next time.”

Illya took a deep breath and visibly reined in his anger.  “In my world, cleanliness is God.  If a patron gets a dirty utensil, it reflects poorly upon Taste and it doesn’t take long for something like that to get around.  Worse, it could spread a foodborne illness.  What if a patron with a compromised immune system was exposed to something that killed him or her or, at the very least, made the person ill?  That would close me.  There isn’t always a next time, Napoleon.”

“This isn’t about cleanliness, is it?  This is about you staying in business and your precious restaurant.”  The reality was dawning on Napoleon, but it was too late.

“Yeah, it is.  Sue me.”  Illya walked out and onto the back porch, letting the screen door slam behind him.  Napoleon watched him collapse into an Adirondack chair and cup his face.

They’d been together for just a few months and Napoleon still wasn’t sure where he stood.  At times, the Illya he’d known was gone and a stranger stood before him.  Granted, it was a handsome and desirable one, but a stranger nonetheless.   At other times, Illya was much the same as before, and it was easy and effortless between them.

Napoleon poured two cups of coffee and prepared them, adding a generous shot of brandy to both.  He carefully rinsed the spoon he used and put it in the dishwasher.  Then, careful not to slosh, he carried them out to the back porch and, wordlessly, offered a cup to Illya.

After a moment, Illya took one, sipped cautiously and then took a second larger swallow.  Napoleon eased himself into a second chair and stared out at the field behind their house.  He didn’t know if Illya owned it, but it was empty and the grass was growing a vibrant green.  Flowers were randomly sprouting and birds sang in the occasional bush.

For a long time, they just sat there, sipping their coffee and staring out at the landscape.

“I think it was the quiet here that sold me on Jackson,” Illya said softly.  “After New York and San Francisco, I yearned for someplace slower and seemingly more at peace.  I needed it.  My soul needed it.  I was so tired when I left you, Napoleon.  I was tired of the constant need to move, be it flying, running, driving or anything else.  I was weary of the fight.  I can look back now and see that our splitting up was the best thing to happen to me since… well, you.”

“Do you want me to leave?”  Napoleon’s heart clenched.

“Of course not, but I need for you to understand.  Taste is my world now and my life.  Everything I have struggled and fought for in the last few years is tied up in that little bit of real estate.  It’s mine, or it will be in a few dozen years.”

“What do you want me to do then?”

“I’m not asking you to change your world or your life, but to see that I’ve changed mine and accept that things need to be done a certain way to be part of it.”  He looked at Napoleon with such sadness.  “Could you do that for me?  For us?”

“And your socks?”

“I, too, will make the attempt.”  A ghost of a smile accompanied the statement.

                                                                                ****

An explosion of yowls shook Napoleon from his daydream. 

“What on earth?”  He walked quickly to the door to see two cats in a blur of fur and tails fighting on the porch.  “Hey!”  That was enough to startle them and send them in opposite directions in a hail of floating cat hair.  That was… odd.

Shaking his head, Napoleon walked to the refrigerator and looked at the notes Illya left him.  While Illya tried to make the directions foolproof, Napoleon only had to read halfway down the first page to know when he was beaten.

Instead he reached for the phonebook and opened it up to the yellow pages.  Half an hour later, he had his feet up on the coffee table, sipping a glass of very good wine and eating a pepperoni pizza, extra cheese, and to hell with his diet.  There was a fire crackling away and Brunir and Fremir were stretched out in front of it.  Napoleon didn’t know where Roux was, but he could hear her chirping away.  He’d never heard her go on like that before.  Of course, Illya had never been gone before.  He would have to ask Illya about this during their next call.   

There was some Big Band playing on the radio, a nice change from the jazz that Illya preferred.  This was about as perfect as his life could be with one exception.  The only thing that was missing was his blond Russian.  Napoleon grinned.  How long it had been since Napoleon had stopped thinking of Illya as anything but his?  He reached for the phone, then hesitated.  Illya had to deliver the keynote address to a thousand like-minded chefs tomorrow.  He would need his sleep tonight.  Napoleon should be considerate, but his fingers dialed the number anyway.    After the tenth ring, he hung up.  Illya must be with his fellow chefs still.

A small tendril of fear began to unfurl in his stomach and Napoleon pushed the pizza away.   _This is stupid!_ He chastised himself.  _Illya is just on a business trip, nothing more._

Napoleon tried to watch TV, but nothing held his interest, not even the news.  He kept remembering the worst night in his life – the night he lost Illya.    It hadn’t mattered that it was a THRUSH engineered plot, or that any man would have been powerless to resist that assassin’s charms.  The look on Illya’s face haunted him for years.  Napoleon thought he was over it.  He thought wrong.

With a sigh, he dropped the remote onto the sofa cushion, gathered up his dish and trash to carry it to the kitchen.  He hit the wall light switch on and there was a sudden explosion of activity. 

There were a half dozen stray cats in the kitchen and for a moment Napoleon was too stunned to do any more than watch as they dashed out the cat door.  The shambles and smell they left behind was overwhelming.  The cats must have sprayed every vertical surface in the kitchen.

Napoleon opened the door and the last two cats, having taken refuge beneath the table, shot out into the night.  He slammed the door and blocked the cat flap closed.  All he could do was be thankful that none of them had figured out the swinging kitchen door or the whole house would be in an equal state.

Napoleon looked over as Roux wandered into the kitchen then and immediately crossed to him and began rubbing against his leg.  “Why do I have a feeling this is your fault?” Her only excuse came in the form of chirps and purrs.  She left him and sniffed at a spot on the cupboard door.  Suddenly she squatted and began to urinate on the floor in front of it.

“Roux!”  The shout made the cat scurry away. 

The cat bowls were empty, so Napoleon picked them up and placed them in the sink.  Getting clean dishes, he put some dry food in them, then carried them and some water to the other side of the kitchen door. 

Then he locked himself in and surveyed the damage.  This had long night written all over it.  With a sigh, he began to look for the cleaning supplies.

                                                                                ****

Napoleon’s hands were wrinkled, sore, and pink from scrubbing.  The next day, well, later, he would go into town and see if he could find something else.  He’d done his best to get rid of the smell, but it seemed to permeate everything.  Illya would have a heart attack if he came home and smelled his kitchen.

Napoleon sniffed his hands and made a face.  Apparently the smell included him.  He wished he could have found the gloves that he’d seen Illya wear when he cleaned.  He’d gone through every cabinet and drawer, but had had no luck.   He called Illya’s room again, but the phone only rang.  He opted to not leave a message, unsure of exactly what he would say.  The fact that it was nearly midnight bothered him.

Wearily, Napoleon climbed the stairs up to the second floor, taking care not to touch anything on his way up.  Even though he was exhausted, he knew he would never sleep until he took a long shower.  Thankfully, one of the nice things about owning your business is that you had staff to handle things.

Walking into the bedroom, he flipped on the light with his elbow and groaned.  It looked as if their bureau had exploded, scattering its contents all over the room.

“Illya, I am going to throttle you.”  He bent to pick something white up from the floor and started to laugh, perhaps just a bit hysterically at this point.  It was a thong with a UNCLE logo on it.  It had been a gag gift after Illya had been cast in _The Full Monty_ during an assignment.  Napoleon couldn’t remember the details, but he remembered presenting Illya with that thong.

****

“You don’t really expect me to wear this?”  Illya let the thong dangle from the end of one finger.

“Considering what you were just wearing on stage, I’d think you’d leap at the opportunity.” 

“Perhaps leap isn’t the most appropriate term when dealing with one of these. They are very uncomfortable.”

“Really?”  Napoleon had batted innocent eyes at him.  “Do tell.”

Illya tossed it to him.  “Go ahead.  Try it on for yourself.”

                                                                                ****

He had and Illya was right.  It was uncomfortable and the strap between his cheeks chaffed.  Then Illya had slipped it off and with some cream had dealt with the chaffing and other things. 

A blur of beige caught Napoleon’s eye and Roux raced into the room and up onto the bed.  She looked at Napoleon and squatted.

“No!”  He threw the thong at her and she took off.  However, the damage was done.  “What is wrong with you, Roux?”

She’d always been so careful up to this point.  There had to be something wrong.  He’d call the vet in the morning.  Napoleon stopped in mid-thought.  What was the name of their vet?  Where was he even located?  Was he here in Jackson, Sutter Creek, somewhere else?

Frustrated, Napoleon walked into the bathroom and stopped.  On the side of the sink was Illya’s wedding ring.  Illya never took that off, not even when he was cooking. 

A sense of panic caught Napoleon’s chest and he scrambled for the phone, dialing the number three times before he got it right.

There were two rings and then a sleepy, “Lo?”

All the panic in Napoleon’s stomach vanished at the sound of his mate’s voice.  “Hey.”

“Napoleon?”  Illya coughed.  “Waz wrong?”

 _Nothing now_.

“Napoleon?”  Illya’s voice was stronger, more awake now.  “What is the matter?”

“Um, nothing?”

“You called me at two in the morning because nothing is wrong?  I think you need to try again.”

“You left your wedding ring here,” Napoleon blurted out.  Instantly, he felt ashamed by both his anger and his fear.

“I know.  My arthritis was bothering me and my finger was swelling.  I didn’t want to have to have it cut off, so I removed it to have it re-sized.  Like usual, the day got away from me and I forgot it.”

“Oh.”  Then Napoleon heard a voice in the background and his heart collapsed.  “Illya, who’s that?”

“Uh, the… the radio.”    The noise was muffled.  “Listen, Napoleon, I really need to get some sleep before… I have to get up in two hours.”

“Yeah, okay.  Bye.”  Napoleon hung up the phone and waited, but the phone didn’t ring.  He walked dejectedly to the shower and stood beneath the stream of water until it turned lukewarm, then cold, as cold as he felt inside.  He’d lost Illya.  Somewhere along the way, he’d been so busy with life that he’d lost the one thing that made that life worth dealing with.

He climbed out and ignored his reflection, hurriedly drying and bundling up in his robe.   There was still no call and no messages. 

He fell into the bed, then sat up immediately as his back grew wet.  He peeled off the robe and stripped everything off the bed.  The urine had seeped down to the mattress, but thankfully there was a waterproof liner protecting it, so the mattress itself was spared.   The last thing he wanted to do tomorrow was shop for a new mattress.

 He carried the bed clothes to the hamper and dropped them beside it.   He was too tired to do a load of laundry now, so he found some sheets and an extra blanket and went back to make the bed.  

Then he shook his head.  “The hell with it.”  Grabbing his pillow, Napoleon slowly made his way to the guestroom.

Brunir and Fremir were stretched out on the bed and looked up, surprised, as he walked in, but didn’t complain when he pushed back the covers and slid beneath them.

After a moment they all settled down and Napoleon drifted off to sleep.

 

Napoleon woke to the sense of being watched.  He sat up and Illya was standing there by the bed.

“Illya!”

“You needn’t sound so happy about it.  I’m just leaving.”  Illya indicated two suitcases.

“What?

“Look at you!  You’re old!  You’re fat!  You don’t have a clue about what I do or who I am.  I found someone who understands me.” 

A strangely familiar man appeared at the door.  Napoleon’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “Velon!  You’re dead.”

“You wish, auld man,”   Velon said, coming up to Illya and kissing him.  “I’ll never die, will I, lad?”

Napoleon bolted straight up in bed and looked around.   It took him a long minute to get his heart calmed down.  Fremir came up and nudged his hand until Napoleon pet him.  He was never going to get back to sleep now.

                                                                                ****

The light in his eyes was strange and Napoleon blinked himself awake.  For a moment, he didn’t have a clue where he was and then the previous day’s events found their way back to him.

“Oh, lord.”  He looked at the bedside clock, surprised that it was only eight.  It felt like it should be much later.

He untangled himself from the sheets and sat up.  His feet hitting the cool wood on the floor woke him up a bit more.  With a yawn, he stood and stretched.

Surprisingly, after that little nightmare, his sleep had been peaceful.  It was as if he needed to get it out of his system.

“Thursday.  Today is Thursday,” Napoleon said to Brunir.  He made a habit of doing that just so he would have a sense of which day was which.  They all tended to run into each other now.

He walked to the window and glanced out, surprised to see cars already parked in front of Vinea.  That was odd, but perhaps the store manager decided they needed a meeting or something.  Napoleon would be apprised of it later.  It was hard to stand back and let others take over running his baby, but it was his hopes that it would encourage Illya to do the same.  So far, no such luck.

Napoleon yawned again and made his way upstairs to their bathroom.  Illya’s wedding ring sat on the shelf, as if taunting him for his wayward thoughts of the night before. 

Of course Illya wouldn’t look at another man.  He only had eyes for one thing.

                                                                                ****

“That guy was flirting with you.”  Napoleon murmured and Illya looked around surprised.  “Don’t look!”

“Then why did you tell me?”

“I thought you would be flattered.”

“Does it make you jealous?”

“Insanely so.”  Napoleon tried to make it a joke, but it was a half truth.  He hated it.

“Why?”

“Why?  You’re sexy and in shape.  You are successful and you have more money than you know what to do with.  And you’re hung like a ---”

“Napoleon!”

 

                                                                                ****

As he walked into the kitchen, Napoleon was surprised that the kitchen didn’t smell as bad as he thought it had the night before.  Then he saw a red bottle on the table and froze.  He knew that wasn’t there the night before.  Slowly he approached it and glance down at a note.  With a sigh, he recognized Matt’s handwriting.

_Cara,_

_What did you do in here last night?  It smells.  This worked when Chiquita had accidents._

_Come see us.  We miss you._

_Matt_

Napoleon couldn’t believe he slept through the burglar alarm and then mentally retracing his steps, he realized he’d forgotten to set it.  Usually that was Illya’s job.

He walked over to the pantry and instantly two cats appeared.  

“Where is Roux, guys?”  He opened a can, making a face at the fishy smell.  He placed two of the three plates down and stepped back into the living room, making kissing noise.

Shrugging his shoulder, Napoleon returned to the kitchen and covered the third plate with plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator. 

“I sure would love to know what has gotten into her.”  The sound of a nearby cat fight made him wince.  “And just about every other cat around here.”

 

                                                                                ****

He spent the afternoon going over invoices for Vinea and Taste.  Even though they had an accountant, Napoleon still liked to know what was going in and out of their businesses.  It only made sense to keep an eye on things and to let everyone know he was aware of what was going in and out of the doors.  He trusted his employees, but it never hurt to be cautious.

There was a knock and he glanced up, startled.  He made sure nothing proprietary was showing and walked to the front door.

He opened it and grinned.  Rocky was standing there, a smile on his face and a covered tray in his hands.

“Rocky, my boy, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Chef asked us to look on you.”

“He didn’t think I could take care of myself?”

“He knows you can, just that you probably wouldn’t.”  Rocky entered and walked to the dining room table to set down the tray.

“He is wise beyond his years.”  Napoleon watched as Rocky took off the lid.  “Mm, and what have we here?”

“Tonight’s special - Almond-crusted duck breasts with a salad of baby lettuce and chanterelle mushrooms.”   Rocky efficiently transferred everything from the tray to the table.  “Mattie was hoping you might suggest a good pairing.”

Napoleon took a deep breath and smiled.  “I think I might manage something.”  He sat and started to cut a piece of meat.  “By the way, Rocky, you haven’t seen Roux outside, have you?”

“She’s out on the porch.  Didn’t even move as I came by.”

A stab of panic caught Napoleon and he leapt to his feet and raced outside.  Sure enough, the creamy tan cat was stretched out on the porch floorboards.

“Roux?”  Napoleon reached out to touch her, fearful of what he might find and then he heaved a sigh as her head came up.  “What have you been up to?”  Her fur was ruffled and matted.  He picked her up and she cried a little.  “Are you hurt?”

“You do know she can’t answer you, Mr. S?” Rocky was beside him now. 

“Not in words, but she’s speaking volumes to me.” He carried her inside, his food forgotten.  “Rocky, would you grab me a towel from the bathroom and throw it on the guest bed?”

“Sure thing.”

Napoleon laid her on the towel and smiled as Roux began to purr.  He checked her over and shook his head.  “She looks okay.”

“Maybe she got into a fight.”

“Should I take her to the vet?”

“No idea.  Matt’s the animal person in our relationship.  Maybe you should call Chef.”

“Excellent idea.”  Napoleon had been wanting a reason and this was perfect.  He walked back into the living room and groaned.  “Rocky…”

Brunir and Fremir jumped down from the table, remnants of lunch still in their possession, and raced off.

“Sorry.  I’ll go get another portion.”  Rocky ran to the table and shook his fingers.  “Bad kitties.”

“Let me know if that works for you.  They’ve been a right terror this week.”  He watched Rocky hastily gather everything together and leave.  He dialed the number and asked for Illya’s room.

“Hello?”  The voice was strange and young.  Napoleon was surprised.  “Hello?”

“I’m sorry.  May I speak with Mr. Kuryakin, please?”

“He’s busy.  You need to call back later.”

“He’s not too busy for me,” Napoleon muttered.

“What?  You have to speak up.”

“Tell him that Napoleon is on the phone.”

“Sure he is and I’m Julius Caesar.”

“Then hail, Caesar, and give him the phone.  I need to talk to him.”

“Nice try, old man, but he’s not interested.”  The line went dead and Napoleon stared at it.  Part of him wanted to call back and insist that someone at the front desk go and check on Illya.  Another part of him chastised him for thinking what he was thinking. 

Rocky reappeared.  “What did Chef say?”

“I didn’t get a chance to speak to him.  He’s busy.”

“It’s okay, Mr. S.  I’ve been to these conventions before.  They are pretty crazy.”  He repeated his earlier actions and this time crossed his arms, standing guard as Napoleon sat to eat.  “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

                                                                                ****

Napoleon wanted to believe that, but additional attempts ended the same.  For some reason, no one would let him talk to Illya and his frustration and anxiety grew as the night approached. 

He went into the guest bedroom and smiled.  Roux was on the floor, eating.  “Are you feeling better, sweetheart?”

She blinked sleepily at him and returned to the bed.  Napoleon glanced over at the litter box he’d moved into the room.  It had been used.  “Well, everything seems functional.”  He petted her and then left her, making sure to close the door behind him.  Her brothers sat there, anxious and curious. 

“Sorry, she’s off limit, boys.  You will have to amuse yourselves tonight.”

Napoleon walked back into the living room and went to the window that looked out onto the parking lot.  It was full and there seemed a steady stream of people in and out of Taste.  Illya would be happy to hear that.

He looked at the phone and shook his head.  He’d left a message at the front desk the last time and there still hadn’t been anything from Illya. 

“I should have gone with him.” Napoleon climbed the stairs, pausing to look at one of the pictures that lined the wall.  “What is going on with you, Illya?”  He reached out and touched the smiling face of his partner.  “If I don’t reach you tomorrow, I’ll fly down and check things out for myself.”

Saying it, Napoleon suddenly felt empowered.  He had a plan and a timeline.  He was again in control of the situation.  With that, he went to bed.

 

                                                                                ****

A soft kiss to his forehead woke him and Napoleon blinked awake.  He looked up and Illya was bending over him, backlit by the hall light.  For a moment, Napoleon wondered if it was a dream.  His night had been filled with them, unpleasant and unsettling.  It wasn’t a dream and Illya was really there.  That was a wonderful reality

“Illya?  You’re… here?”  Napoleon sat up, half asleep and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Can’t slip anything past you.”  Illya sat on the edge of the bed and Napoleon looked past him at the suitcase.

“But… the convention… you’re the keynote speaker.”

“I was, but they got another one. Besides, they don’t need me.  With all the egos they have gathered in one spot, it’s highly unlikely I will even be missed.”

“But why?” 

Illya brushed Napoleon’s sleep-crazed hair from his forehead.  “When I finally got your messages and couldn’t reach you, I got worried and grabbed the next flight home.”

“But the phone…”  Napoleon reached for it and it was dead.  “One of the cats must have knocked it from its cradle.  I’m sorry I made you worry.” Illya reached for him and for a long moment they merely held each other.

“It’s okay. 

“The first time you go away and the place went to hell.”

“I feel needed.”  Napoleon caught Illya’s left hand, his wedding band in place and Illya followed his gaze.   “It was the first thing I did when I arrived.  I felt strangely naked without it.”

“I thought… well, I thought the worst when I couldn’t get through to you.”

“I was being pestered by an overly aggressive vendor and Markle thought he was doing me a favor.  By the time he finally got around to telling me, it was hours later and then I got word from the front desk and you know the rest.”

“So there’s no one… interested in you?”

“Who else would have me?”  Illya yawned.   “You know, I worked like a dog to clear my weekend and no one knows I’m here.  What if we lock the door, draw the shades and let the world think I’m still gone.”

“Have you to myself, you mean?”  Napoleon smiled at the suggestion.

“For the entire weekend.”

“That isn’t long enough.”

“Then why don’t we go upstairs and you can tell me all about it?”

Napoleon didn’t need a second invitation.  Hand in hand, they climbed the stairs and rejoiced once more in the love and life they had in each other’s arms.

 

Sixty Five Days later

 

Napoleon looked down into the box where Roux was proudly grooming her latest arrival.  Three tiny kittens were nursing and mewing alternately.  The cat couldn’t look more accomplished.

“And of course, it had to be on our bed,” Napoleon said.  “That bedspread is history.”

“I was getting tired of if anyway.”  Illya picked up one of the tiny kittens and settled it in a box lined with heavy towels. “You might have said something sooner,” Illya murmured to Napoleon as he stroked Roux’s head, trying to distract her for the moment.

“As I recall, we were pretty busy that weekend… well pretty busy, considering we never left the house.   I honestly forgot all about it, Illya.  She was acting weird, but then she calmed down after she came back from her night on the town.  I didn’t connect the dots.  I just thought she was getting fat.  I didn’t even consider the possibility that she’d become a fallen woman.” 

“And you call yourself a sophisticated man of the world.  What about all that time on your farm growing up.”

“It’s amazing what you can forget over time.  With me these days, it’s more a case of being a townie.  Now what do we do?”

“We let her do what she does best and then we’ll find homes for them.  At least, it was a small litter.  How long did you say she was out?”

“A few hours.”

Illya lifted one of the kittens, then paused before setting it beside its sibling as Napoleon’s eyes rolled upward.   “What was that look for?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  Just thanking my lucky stars she wasn’t going for the world record or anything.”

“Cats are sensible that way.”  Illya took the last kitten and got it settled in the box.  Roux immediately jumped down to join them.  “Happy little family.”

Napoleon draped an arm around Illya’s shoulders.  “Just like us.”  He kissed Illya’s temple.  “Forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive.  You weren’t raised around cats.  You just didn’t know. At least none of those tom cats got in here.  I shudder to think what they might have done to the place.” 

Napoleon laughed.  “Do I look that irresponsible?”

“No, you look like a proud Papa.  You are beaming, you realize that.”

“Well, it’s not every day that I become a grandfather.”  He paused and then grinned.  “Should I offer you a cigar to suck on, little boy?”

“Napoleon!”  Illya looked aghast.  “Not in front of the children!”

 


End file.
